It's
nacholicious! Just like a tortilla chip, I saw there was no
inside or outside.
--Jon Evans, Ch'an Buddhist, San Diego

The spoon's got to go into the pot along with the
beans. Only then will the incessant self-monitoring stop.
--Michael Rosker, Psychic Energetics Healer, New York

We have nacho
satsangs. Each Tuesday evening in Manhattan at 6pm, for the last
two years or so. Instead of Arunachala, Bombay or Rishikesh, we
have Tacocina, Samalitas, and Burritoville. Burritoville is our
favorite. Nachos, tacos, burritos, corn chips, refried beans,
sour cream, guacamole and hot sauce. And to drink, Jarritos
Mexican sodas -- pineapple, tamarind, guava, strawberry and fruit
punch. You order, go to the counter, pick up the food, and chow
down. These are the trappings for deep, intimate, but fascinating
conversations about emotions, ego, Self, love for the Guru,
finding the Witness, and the non-localization of awareness.

There's no
charismatic leader, no approved school of thought. Just open,
honest, democratic inquiry and sharing among friends. Sometimes
it's just two of us, sometimes four or five. Sometimes people
come from the tri-state area to join us. There are quite a few
who've just returned from quests in India, passing through New
York on the way to a satsang-dense area like Boulder, Sedona or
Berkeley, and want to keep the rhythm going.

Nachos make
for good satsang. The restaurant provides a colorful setting and
handy objects. Lots of visuals and props. There's the nonduality
of the infinitely circular nacho plate. The chips are the
physical body, the hot sauce is the guru, the salt is the
embellishment of concepts and baggage, and the flimsy plastic
spoon is that pesky small self that people try to spoon away.
When someone asks what kind of technique they can use to make the
last vestiges of the ego drop, my friend Michael is tireless
about throwing his spoon onto his plate, looking into their eyes
with great love, "You can't do it like that. It's all got to
go! Be willing to face it all! You're trying to use the spoon!
Instead, the spoon itself's got to go into the pot along with the
beans. Only then will the incessant self-monitoring stop,"
he tells them.

One visitor
had just come from a months'-long stay at Lucknow, Papaji's
hometown in India. "I love Papaji, I attended his funeral,
and just took another trip to fill up with His energy. Everything
is Consciousness, they say, but some things are special - and
Consciousness is One with Papaji and comes from Papaji," he
said. "I'd rather merge with Papaji than be
enlightened," he gushed.

"Please,
do so!!" we urged.

"Well, I
can't, not quite yet. I'm getting closer, but I was really
close for a while!"

So we pointed
to the nacho plate and swirling our hands around it, asked,
"Consciousness is everywhere, right?"

"Yeah...?"
he said, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

We slid the
bottle of Tabasco sauce to a far corner of the table and pointed
to the bottle, "But you see Papaji only THERE, right?"

"Right!"
he said, with a beatific smile on his face.

We pointed
back to the guacamole on top of the nachos, "If
Consciousness is everywhere, and Consciousness is One with
Papaji, then isn't Papaji there, too?," we said, dipping a
chip into that very same guacamole, and taking a bite.

He thought for
a few minutes, "Hmm, well, I guess so," he said,
looking unconvinced, then a bit dejected. "But I want to
feel Him in my heart wherever I go."

We were
finished eating by this time and cleaned a place on top of the
nacho plate. We plunked the bottle of Tabasco onto the plate.
"Maybe," we suggested, "in addition to seeing
Consciousness as limited to Papaji, you can try to see Papaji
unlimited as Consciousness. He can never leave you, nor can you
leave him."

No thinking
this time. "Yes! That sounds good! That way I will be
merged," he said. We did a high five all around. The we took
our final swigs of soda, bussed the trays to the turn-in area,
exchanged hugs all around, and left.